


transform

by FunAndWhimsy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunAndWhimsy/pseuds/FunAndWhimsy
Summary: Hubert has many, many secrets; some he keeps closer to the vest than others. Unfortunately - or not - he's not always in control of who learns what, and his own desire to keep things hidden can't always compete with a secret wish to make them known.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51
Collections: Hubernie Week





	transform

Bernie is less jumpy at night than she is during the day; being around people puts her on edge, so everything seems ten times scarier than it is, but when the people are asleep all she has to worry about are odd noises. So she doesn't jump when she sees the shadows moving, just stays as still as she can and hopes if it wasn't a trick of the light whatever it is doesn't see her. And then she laughs a little, relieved, when the shadows move again and then resolve into a lanky, shaggy dog, almost blacker than the night itself.

"Oh," she says. "Hello."

The dog doesn't answer, just sniffs the air, wary. Bernadetta smiles and crouches, holds her hand out so if he wants to come investigate her he can.

"Are you hungry?" she asks. "I am, I skipped dinner. Do you like pheasant?"

The dog lopes closer, slowly, and Bernadetta stays where she is despite how badly she wants to lean forward and pet him. He looks soft, if a little in need of a bath, and has odd, pale eyes that look almost human. He sniffs her hand carefully, and then sits, and Bernadetta resists the urge to squeal happily. See, she likes making friends fine, just not the people kind.

"Okay, hold on," she says, and stands up so she can fix him a plate. "Do you like berry sauce? Probably not. It's not as good cold, more like jam, but if I light fires and start heating things up in here the guards notice. It's not like I'm hurting anyone, but I guess they think if I want hot food I have to eat dinner with everyone else. Here you go."

Bernadetta sets a plate with a few pieces of pheasant on the floor, and then stands up to eat her own instead of taking it back to her room like she normally would. She prefers her own space, sure, and privacy to company, but this particular company isn't bad. Quiet, at least, and pretty cute. He's funny, too; she'd expect a dog this unkempt to be starving but he eats almost delicately, like he's trying not to make a mess. He's probably neater than Bernie herself, who keeps getting sauce all over her fingers and licking it off. They finish at almost the same time, and Bernadetta rinses their dishes as quickly and quietly as possible.

"I'm here most nights," she says, as if the dog can understand her, "so you know where to find me if you get hungry again."

She reaches out to pat his head but he ducks away, and Bernadetta sighs. It was a long shot, probably. Maybe if she sees him again he'll warm up to her, but a nice dog like this out on his own probably has a bunch of reasons not to trust people. She knows the feeling, and she knows not to push it, so she just nods and heads back to her room. Or at least that's what she plans, but it's a nice night and she hasn't been in the greenhouse all week so she takes a little detour first. It's prettier during the day, of course, a riot of colors, but when the moon's this bright there's something about all the odd little silhouettes in the shadows that Bernadetta likes. She should bring her paints down here some night and try to capture it. Tonight, maybe, since it'll be weeks before the moon is this bright again.

That decided, Bernie heads back to her room, where it turns out she has a visitor. The black dog from the dining hall sits in front of her door, and when she approaches he looks at her almost - almost as if they had a meeting she's late for and he's judging her. 

"I don't have any more food," she says, and gives him a minute, like he can understand her and might change his mind. He doesn't, though, and she unlocks her door. "We might both get in trouble for this, you know."

He doesn't seem to care, just pushes in ahead of her and begins sniffing around. Bernadetta holds the door open for a moment - he very well might decide he doesn't want to stay once he doesn't find any more food, and she doesn't want him to feel trapped - but laughs and closes it when he hops up onto her bed and begins going in circles on her pile of blankets. Those oddly human eyes paired with such normal dog behavior are so charming, it's a shame students aren't allowed pets. Not that he would necessarily want to be a pet, want anything other than a warm place to sleep and a good meal.

"Okay," she says, "get comfy, I guess."

The dog does, collapsing so quickly it's like his legs simply stopped working. He huffs, and glances between Bernadetta and the bed several times before resting his head on his paws. Bernadetta laughs again and hurries to change for bed; she'd hate to disappoint her overnight guest, after all. Once she's settled under the covers he rises again, circles a few more times, and lies down directly on top of her feet, heavy and warm and comforting. Bernadetta has no idea what she's going to do in the morning, how she's going to sneak a dog out of her room, but that's a problem for morning Bernadetta. This Bernadetta wiggles her toes just to feel the pressure of her new friend lying on top, closes her eyes, and sinks into a deep, restful sleep.

-

The dog is gone in the morning, and when Bernadetta leaves to go to the day's lecture she finds the door unlocked. Odd, she was sure she locked it the night before - but then, she'd been a little distracted. The dog must have just jumped at the knob until it happened to turn, and then - the wind blew the door shut behind him? He pulled it shut with his teeth? Maybe one of the guards on patrol that morning saw the door open and, after looking in and seeing her sleeping peacefully, simply shut it behind him. Either way, the dog is gone, the door is closed, and Bernadetta has to hurry to hit the perfect timing of just late enough she doesn't run into anyone walking over but not so late the lecture's started and everyone looks at her when she walks in.

Hubert was absent from the lecture yesterday but he's there when Bernadetta walks in, sitting straight and tall - though looking a little paler than usual - next to Edelgard. Bernadetta's a little surprised by how happy she is to see him; not that she didn't want him to get better, exactly, she's just not used to thinking of him as anything but a terrifying presence. It's a little weird to be happy to see him, when she's so used to being unhappy to see anyone at all.

Hubert turns and catches her looking at him, and when he raises an eyebrow Bernadetta squeaks and stumbles, which makes the whole class turn to look at her. Whoops. Ferdinand raises his hand and waves her over to sit next to him - in the _front_ , like he doesn't know her at _all_ , but he complimented her skill with the lance last week and has been trying so hard to make up for frightening her, so she sighs and joins him. For the rest of the morning she swears she feels someone watching her, but whoever it is must be a better spy than Bernie, because every time she glances around everyone's eyes are fixed towards the front.

-

"Oh, hey, cutie," Bernadetta says, trying not to sound too excited even though she's smiling so widely it hurts a little. Excitement is scary, she doesn't want her friend to go running off now that he's finally shown up again. "I'd almost given up on you."

The dog huffs and trots right over to her, sits at her feet and looks at her almost like he's expecting something. Food, probably, but first Bernadetta holds her hand out to see if maybe, maybe sleeping in the same bed earned her petting privileges. He doesn't flinch away, and when she starts to scritch behind his ears he actually leans into her a little bit. Well. He doesn't flinch until she squeals in excitement, and that's entirely her own fault.

"Sorry," she says. "You're very soft, even if you could use a bath. The leftovers tonight aren't very good, sorry. Who likes sweet fish?"

He tilts his head and sticks his tongue out a little, panting. Maybe dogs like their fish sweet, Bernadetta doesn't really know. Or maybe he just likes the way the words sound. Either way she gives him more than she takes for herself, and smiles to watch him wolf it down. He looks skinny, but not starved, so hopefully she isn't his only source of food; he'd probably come around more often if that were true, unless the guards chased him away last time and scared him. Well, she can't control how anyone else treats the poor thing, but at least she can be satisfied when he's here with her he's being cared for. Bernadetta finishes her small, unpleasant meal with significantly less vigor than her new friend and cleans up after them.

"I'm not going back to my room right away," she says, so he doesn't try to find her again and end up disappointed. "You can come with me, if you want? Or you can wait at my door, but if the guards come by they might chase you off so you have to be careful."

He inclines his head a little, almost like he's nodding - oh, Bernadetta loves what a funny, serious little thing he is. It's nice to have a little company sometimes, especially company she knows won't say something wrong and upset her and then she'll have to apologize for being upset, and who doesn't understand her so _she_ can't say the wrong thing and ruin it. Maybe she can find a way to keep him. If he wants to be kept, of course. Bernadetta pets his head again, and beams when he happily lets her, and turns towards the greenhouse. She remembered her paints tonight, and how beautiful everything looked in the light of the full moon.

It's easy to lose herself in painting, like it's easy to lose herself in making anything. She absently pets the dog when he sits next to her on the cold floor, but soon enough turns her full attention to pencils and the challenge of recreating the odd, wild silhouettes of her beloved plants, and to mixing the right colors, and to the careful strokes of her brush. The dog settles beside her, huffs a few times, and falls asleep, his breathing a steady, soothing rhythm against her leg. When she has a free hand she pets him, but mostly she focuses on her work and leaves him to his rest. Eventually he nudges her arm with his nose, and she laughs a little. From not letting her touch him to demanding more in only two meetings, what a sweetheart.

"Okay, okay," she says, but he keeps nudging even as she puts her brush down. It's only when Bernadetta looks over to see what he's after she realizes how light it's gotten; the sky is still gray, but the sun will be up in probably half an hour. Whoops. "Oh, thanks. I lose track of time, I guess."

Bernadetta manages to pack up her paints and get ready to leave before the greenhouse keeper starts for the day, thanks to the dog's intervention. She gives him a grateful pat on the head before carefully moving the stools she borrowed and picking up her still-wet painting. By the time she reaches her room and has to shuffle things around to open the door, the dog has disappeared, and Bernadetta frowns. It's probably for the best, since she won't have time to sleep before the morning lecture and a nice dog to cuddle would have been too much of a temptation to resist, but she's still awfully sad to see him go.

-

Life seems to get easier for Bernadetta by the day, though it's mostly because of other people's intervention. Dorothea asks Bernadetta for a few alterations to some of her outfits, so sewing becomes a social activity for a little while and Bernadetta thinks about painting with her dog friend's warm, pale eyes watching her and how much she didn't hate that. Petra helps when Bernadetta pulls hunting in the chore rotation, so Bernie helps her when it's her turn to cook. Caspar gets her out of all her comfy little hiding places, in his own terrifying way, and Linhardt's good at getting her used to being around people by mostly just sleeping when he's nearby. Ferdinand keeps sitting with her in class, and even lets her convince him to sit in the back half the time. Edelgard - Edelgard, her future emperor, _listens_ to her, when Bernadetta says she's too overwhelmed to talk but also when she babbles and rambles about whatever she's decided is most interesting that day. And Hubert - Hubert just keeps being Hubert, always walking the line between scaring and reassuring her, helping her find her limits and never, ever going past them. 

Once every moon or so, Bernadetta's solitary insomniac activities are interrupted by that lanky dog, who shares her meals and keeps her company while she makes things and huffs when she doesn't sleep enough and keeps her feet warm in bed when she does. Bernadetta starts thinking of him as hers, her dog, even though he never stays past sunrise and never shows his face more than once a moon. But it's nice to think of someone like that, even a pet, to want company and warm feet and someone to remind her she needs to sleep.

-

Bernadetta folds the towel over the basket of meat pies and takes a second to breathe; it's earlier than her usual trip to the kitchens for dinner, and there are enough people around she's been on edge the whole time. She's getting better, she's gotten so much better, but it's harder to have people around when she's doing things she's interested in. What if someone says something rude about her art, her embroidery, her cooking, and she starts second-guessing the things that have always been escapes for her? But of course, no one criticizes, because no one really notices her other than the students on kitchen cleanup duty who have to work around her. So Bernadetta breathes, and calms her racing heart, and hoists the basket so she can move on to the next terrifying task of her terrifying evening.

The upstairs dormitory hall is quiet - it's unseasonably warm, and even though it's already dark the only people inside are the ones studying, most likely - and Bernadetta's footsteps echo as she walks. She's always been glad she didn't get a room up here, where the sound carries so she'd never know if a loud conversation was happening outside her door or the other end of the hall, where she might step out of her room into a group of people in a much tighter space than the lawn her room opens onto. It's probably nicer in the winter, but Bernie's kind of looking forward to bundling up under all her quilts and blankets when the cold comes. 

At the fifth door, Bernadetta stops and takes another deep breath. He isn't going to be mad at her, certainly, and he's never done anything worse than tease her about how easily he frightens her anyway so even if he _does_ get mad everything will be fine. Bernadetta raises her fist and knocks, and manages not to squeak when Hubert answers from inside.

She forgets all - well, most - of her fear the second Hubert opens the door. She knew it must be bad for someone as smart and devoted as Hubert to be missing lectures, but he almost looks more dead than sick. He's ghostly pale, his face drawn in pain, sweating a little from what must be a fever. 

"Oh, I - should I get Manuela?" Bernadetta asks.

"No need," he says, more quietly than she's used to, voice a little strained. "It will pass. Can I help you?"

"I, um," Bernadetta says, and raises the basket. "I remember when we had lunch with the professor last week you, um, liked the meat pies, and I thought, you've been sick so much, so you might - oh, I probably should have checked, if you have a stomach thing you might not be hungry, or want food around, oh _Bernie_ , you didn't - "

"It's not a stomach thing," Hubert says; he still looks like he's in pain, but one corner of his mouth is turned up just a little, a smile without a hint of whatever it is that makes Bernadetta so afraid of all his other smiles. 

"Right. Um, anyway, I brought you meat pies? I thought they might help. Are you sure you don't need to go to the infirmary?"

"I'm sure," he says, but then he winces so it's not entirely convincing.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bernadetta says. "Do you need to sit down? Here." 

Bernadetta shifts the basket to one hand and takes Hubert's arm with the other, and sort of push-pull forces him through the door and to the chair at his desk. As soon as he sits she hands him the basket so she can tidy up his books and papers and make room. When that's finished, she takes the basket and begins laying food out; the towel that kept everything warm, the plate overturned on top of the pies so he'd have something to eat off of, and two of the pies she made. And when that's finished, she glances at his face, at the genuine surprise mixed with something almost soft - fondness, or affection - and then at his surprisingly messy room, and the still open door leading to the hallway, and realizes what she just did. She, Bernie, scared of her own shadow, just shoved her way into a boy's room - _Hubert's_ room - and manhandled him into a chair, all without really thinking about it. Well. She was _worried_ , is all.

"You should go," Hubert says, and winces again; she doesn't disagree with him, really, but it's not the response she was expecting after making him dinner and coming all the way up here and - "Thank you. This is very - thank you, but you should go."

"Of course!" Bernadetta says. "I'm sorry I - um, I shouldn't have, I mean, that was - I hope you feel better! And I'm sorry, I'll just - "

Hubert grabs her arm as she turns to go, which doesn't make a lot of sense since she's doing what he told her, but sometimes Bernadetta misses an important clue about what's going on or what she's supposed to be doing because she's trying not to panic. Did he want her to take the basket with the rest of the pies, or make her swear not to tell anyone about his weakness, or maybe go get Manuela after all, or - 

"Bernadetta," he says, and he's gritting his teeth against obvious pain but that softness she noticed is still there in his eyes, in the tilt of his head, in how gently he's holding her wrist. "There's nothing to apologize for. Another time, I would invite you to dine with me, but I can't tonight."

"Right," she says. "You're sick, I know! I'll, um - I hope you enjoy them."

He doesn't stop her this time when she turns to leave, and as Bernadetta closes the door behind her she takes another moment, in the emptiness of the hall, to breathe and center herself. She did it! One of the most terrifying things imaginable and here she is, on the other side of doing it, alive and unharmed and a little bit giddy from the rush. It's a silly thing to congratulate herself for, something as simple as bringing a meal to a sick friend, but - 

There's a thump and a grunt of pain from the other side of the door, and without really thinking about it she hurries back in to see Hubert lying on the floor, curled on his side and groaning. So it's a good thing she stopped to congratulate herself, or she would have closed the door and been halfway down the hall by now instead of hurrying to kneel at his side. Bernadetta tugs her coat off and bunches it up to put underneath Hubert's head so he doesn't hit it on the floor as he shakes, and hovers her hand an inch or two from his shoulder, not sure whether she should try to comfort him or if that would just hurt him more.

"Hubert, I'm going to get Manuela," she says, though she really, really doesn't want to leave him like this.

"No!" Hubert says, voice thin and tight.

"The professor, then, or Dorothea, or - "

"Bernadetta," Hubert says, and turns to look at her even though it looks like it hurts more to move than to stay still. "It's going to be alright."

Before Bernadetta can argue, he begins to change in front of her eyes. She yelps and backs away a little at the sight of his fingers twisting and black hair sprouting from the back of his hand, at the sound of bone crunching and Hubert's pained groans, and watches in horror as Hubert's body transforms in fits and starts into something entirely different. She squeezes her eyes shut but that almost makes it worse, to hear the horrid noises without any context; when she opens them again Hubert isn't there anymore.

A lanky, shaggy dog, almost blacker than night itself, stands before her in a pile of Hubert's clothes, its odd eyes - so pale and human - watching her closely. Hubert's eyes, she realizes; even if she hadn't just seen him transform she recognizes that look, the way he carefully evaluates her to make sure he isn't frightening or upsetting her too much. 

"Oh," she says, and pushes back up to her knees, holds out her hand like she did the first time she saw him. "Hubert?"

The dog, her friend, Hubert, huffs a little, and she's pretty sure he rolls his eyes, but he comes to her and sniffs at her hand, then sits in front of her, watching her warily. Bernadetta doesn't really know what else to do so she pets him, scratches behind his ears like she knows he likes, and smiles when he butts his head into her hand for more. 

"Hi," she says, and laughs, a little bit wild because she can't stop thinking about all the things that make more sense now - his funny human mannerisms, his pale eyes, how he gets out of her room every morning - and less sense - why would someone who could do this just want to watch her _paint_? - and all the things that are way too much to think about right now - she's _changed_ in front of him, she's shared her _bed_ with him. Hubert huffs again and pads over to the desk, looking pointedly up at the basket of meat pies he never got to eat. "Oh! Right."

Bernadetta hops up and puts the plate on the floor for him, leans against the desk so she can watch him eat. It's even more funny now, how fastidious he is, that it's not just an oddly polite dog but that after a transformation that violent Hubert's still so _Hubert_. Bernie hasn't had her own dinner yet so she takes one of the meat pies for herself, and it makes her feel a little better to just be doing the same thing she's been doing for months now, whatever else might be different from now on. She lets Hubert lick her fingers when she's finished, which is the same as always but also so absurd it makes her laugh again, and pets his soft ears until he wags his tail, and then she smiles at him.

"It's a little early to go wandering around the grounds," she says, though she can hear enough commotion in the hall it seems like it won't be long before everyone's settled and the monastery is theirs again. "Do you have any good books?"

Hubert pads over to the bookshelf and sniffs at a few books, then wanders over to his bed and hops up to get comfortable while Bernadetta decides. Most of the bookcase is textbooks, history, and strategy, but he pointed out the small fiction selection and she pulls one at random that she hasn't read before. It's a little odd to be getting into Hubert's bed like this, but she's so used to cuddling up with her dog - with her Hubert - it's familiar, too, and before long she's lost herself in the book and in the comforting weight of his head on her stomach.

-

The dog is gone in the morning, but Hubert is there, in pajamas it looks like he put on somewhat hastily. Bernadetta tucks her face into his shoulder, reveling in how nice it feels to wake up with someone, to cuddle a person who can cuddle back and not just the dog who does his very best. 

"Do you think anyone will notice if we miss class today?" she asks, and Hubert smiles, a tentative, genuine thing that makes her heart do somersaults in her chest.

"Yes," he says, but he pulls the blanket higher over the two of them anyway and rests his head on the pillow, and the two of them sleep until the sun is high, deep and dreamless.


End file.
